


and it goes, 1-2-1

by xxELF21xx



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Panic Attacks, featuring steven choking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:40:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25592170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxELF21xx/pseuds/xxELF21xx
Summary: In their little alcove, there’s nothing else he could ask for.
Relationships: Ookido Green | Blue Oak/Red
Comments: 10
Kudos: 56





	and it goes, 1-2-1

**Author's Note:**

> i completely deviated from the prompt and I'm very sorry, mieu:(

The ballroom’s floor has an odd shine to it, scrubbed clean of imperfections and scratches, light bouncing off smooth marble sharply. It hurts to look, but it’s awfully difficult to keep his head held high and pretend everything's okay. 

He doesn’t know who these people are, in their expensive tailor-made extravagance with their fancy crystal wine glasses and foreign dainty drinks. He doesn’t know where he is, the giant ballroom akin to a cage, clear glass windows blocking his routes to freedom, stuck in a ridiculously posh hotel with nowhere else to go. He’s trapped, fingers wrinkling his equally expensive and uncomfortable suit, trying his best to blend into the cream walls or merge into the shadows beneath exotic limestone pillars. 

There are a few faces he barely recognises, Hoenn’s Elite Four and Champions are roaming about aimlessly, the Johto trio glued together so tight it’s impossible to walk past them at all, and a few of Kanto’s own Gym Leaders. But the familiarity brings no comfort, not when there is a sea of unknowns breathing around him and crowding him much too close. Red can’t reach them, not when there are too many hands attempting to catch his attention and suffocate him. 

It’s in situations like these when he wished he could ditch his problematic self and become someone else, like Lucas.

‘Yo, Red!’ In his peripherals, he sees a pair of scuffed shoes line up with his feet, ‘have you seen Lance’s dragonite? Apparently he’s got a tenth one and named it Lucille, packs a punch too. I bet Venesaur would be itching for a battle right about now.’ It’s Green. The other man’s voice brings a calm amidst the stormy seas, anchoring him just enough to get his bearings back. 

Green doesn’t stop talking, pressing their shoulders close together, about Silver almost punching a Galarian speaking poorly of other Leagues, Steven losing a bet with Calem over how many canapes he could fit in his mouth before either Wallace or Serena noticed, and Elio stepping on annoying socialites’ feet before blaming his supposed clumsiness. Red doesn’t really pay all that much attention to the stories, but he does find his lips twitching when he heard that Steven had been caught by his father and hacked up all the canapes after choking. 

He hears Green’s laughs too, tinged pink with amusement and mirth. Green must have bet on Calem winning. 

‘Hey,’ Green’s hand hovers over his arm, ‘you wanna get out of here?’ Even though he’s not looking, Red knows that amber eyes are twinkling with mischief. ‘Let’s bet how long it’ll take Lance to figure out we’re missing.’ 

Red has never agreed to a reckless plan this fast. 

Green enters his field of vision, blotting out the vast ballroom, a rather feral grin on his face. With a slight tug of his wrist, they’re off, winding through the crow’s nest with ease. Trust Green to know how to get around people. 

He’d expected Green to unlatch a window to a balcony, but they both end up in a secluded little garden, far away from the din of the gala. If he weren’t so jittery, he’d be taking the time to absorb the peace and quiet, breathe in the serene night air. 

Gently, Green’s palms lift his gaze from the dirt, smile dimming down into something much softer and private. ‘Hi.’ 

Cracking a weak smile, he mouths the word right back. 

‘Feeling better?’ He tilts his head slightly to the left, an odd habit that runs through the Oak family, ‘because I’ve still got a ton of stories and blackmail to tell you.’ 

Red snorts airily, managing to croak out a sound, and gets pulled into a bench. His head rests against Green’s chest, the silk of Green’s pocket square tickling his nose. At this angle, Green’s heartbeat is the only thing he can hear; a strong  _ thump-thump-thump  _ of the 1-2-1 beat. 

Bit by bit, he eases up, releasing the tension that’s been building up all night, allowing Green to continue his rambling -- he’d have to ask for an encore later, when they’re home and out of their dumb suits -- while soothing the gel out of his hair. 

‘I don’t wanna be here anymore,’ he whispers, eyes drooping. Green hums, complaining about the terrible mains and the gel in his hair. 

In their little alcove, there’s nothing else he could ask for. 


End file.
